


Such Crazed World

by Chaifootsteps



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe, Blood, Character Death, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, SkekSil is an awful person, Wildly inappropriate use of Gelfling essence, implied SoVar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaifootsteps/pseuds/Chaifootsteps
Summary: The battle of Stone-in-the-Wood is over. The Skeksis have won.For SkekMal.
Relationships: skekMal/skekSil (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	Such Crazed World

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, Gelfling and Rian in particular. I promise I really do like you guys, kinda.

It was a close call, skekSil will admit... _must_ admit.

Even on a day as victorious as this, one must not succumb to the alluring wink of hubris.

The Skeksis had the invigorating force of essence on their side, true, but the Gelfling had the Dual Glaive. The Skeksis bristled with gleaming new armor – spring-loaded trappings standing in place of long-discarded ornamental fans – but they're not as young as they were once, not the vital creatures who dispatched Gruenaks like crawlies, and the Gelfling had everything to lose. If the clans had united as they had even an hour earlier, this day could have ended very, _very_ differently. They'll need to be far more cautious than they've been.

But ultimately, their talons made it clear of the fire. The Dual Glaive is safe in Skeksis hands. All thanks to skekMal.

And whatever wrathful fervor the Gelfling had possessed, whatever hope drove them so doggedly on, was doused upon seeing their leader's head wrenched crisply from his shoulders.

SkekSil would have liked to sympathize, but then again, he _had_ warned him.

***

It's a glorious night, one sure to be remembered for trine to come. No service and no music in light of the fact that no one can account for the Podlings, but there's fresh meat and even fresher essence and everyone's laughing, plumped up on their own excellence – more quietly on the knowledge that something frightening is behind them forever.

SkekOk has spent the evening loudly crowing about how he struck one of their Maudras from the air, enthusiasm checked only by skekLach ribbing away without mercy, but never far from his side. The Scientist is basking in the adoration of his kind for the first time in trine, seeing toast after toast to his brilliance and his Garthim, who stand ready to mop up whatever Gelfling inconvenience remain. The Ornamentalist and the Gourmand are, of course, in one another's laps.

He hasn't seen the Emperor for some time, nor the General.

He'd thought about taking the indulgent route, he reflects as he wanders in search of them. The memory of pain ripping through his hand was as vivid as he wanted it to be, the ache of indignities born time and time again one he had every intention of keeping close to his breast, so as not to forget. It would have been so _easy_ , so poetic, and no one would have ever known.

“ _Friend skekSil...I'm badly wounded. Please, help me...”_

But no. No, no...it was just not to be. He'd expected some degree of favor from skekVar, who honors such things, but discovering exactly how deep said favors ran, how staunchly there held, necessitated a quick change of strategy. The satisfaction of vengeance is fleeting and common; a big, strong, loyal friend, neither.

  
_“Here, come, must stop bleeding. Friend General will live to fight Gelfling another day.”_

_  
_And his reward had been swift in coming. SkekVar had sung his praises to the stars and back as skekTek had cleaned and bandaged his wound; the depths of the Chamberlain's character and integrity even in the dark undeniable, he'd claimed, albeit in slightly fewer words. Coming home to the realization that skekTek had not only induced their shared plan to bear fruit, but grown up an entire orchard, must have surely cemented skekSo's decision.

“ _It occurs that I've room for a seat at each side. The Gelfling will seek to rise again, and when they do, I will not lack for a strong right and left hand.”_

He finds them in the Emperor's chambers, half-dressed, but if they've been rutting, he can't imagine it was very vigorously. SkekVar is sound asleep, his big head on skekSo's stomach, the Emperor's talons working gently through his sparse hair. Just two small candles burning softly through the shadow, but enough to make it clear to skekSil that he can win a chair, he can curry all the favor he likes, he can work a thousand trine, and still there will be pieces of the Emperor that will never fully be his to claim.

...But that's alright.

Truly. It is.

Because this is a day, a _lesson_ even, in things working out, if not always in the way one expects.

Without a word, the Chamberlain leaves them to it.

***

SkekSil seeks the Hunter and finds him by the great window overlooking the northern horizon, and the Claw Mountains capped with snow. One would think being force-fed every drop of essence in the castle would have quelled his appetite for the stuff, but he drank his full share at dinner, and the first thing about him skekSil takes in is the tension in his shoulders and the way he's twitching about in his seat, restless and ravenous. They all get that way, he's learned through careful observation, but never moreso than at the beginning, the days following that first taste.

“Knock knock,” he says, rapping the archway to the room to compensate for the lack of door. “Chamberlain would come and sit with Hunter?”

“Would you?” grumbles skekMal.

SkekSil comes in anyway, but makes sure to approach with both bottles in hand as an insurance policy against how much skekMal has never particularly liked him. It works; those enchanting sea-green eyes swivel on him, skekMal huffing and sniffing away at the scent, which continues to evade description, even for skekOk, who specializes in them. It smells nostalgic, one could say, and like walking out into bright sunlight, and undeniably like _something_ , but also precisely like nothing. SkekSil hands the bottle over regardless, and skekMal drinks deep. SkekSil, though he uncorks his own serving, does not.

“Hunter need not worry about going back for more helpings, not tonight,” he assures kindly. “Is more than enough essence for all, and besides, Hunter richly deserves it. Secured victory for Skeksis, changed tide of battle! Ensured future for Skeksis!”

He waits until skekMal has finished riding out the tide of euphoria that always accompanies the drinking of essence, head thumping back against the wall as he snarls his delight. When he deigns to turn his attention back towards skekSil, there's a fresh fire in his eyes that makes skekSil want to squirm in his seat, and not out of displeasure.

“So I noticed. Screeching, impotent swatting...showing up in your silly little finery, no reinforcements whatsoever. It's a miracle any of you survived as long as you did!”

“But _did_ survive. Survived to see Hunter breaking legs, and tearing off wings...was _quite_ a sight, yes? Mm, I'll imagine--”

“You're here to be rutted.”

SkekSil blinks.

“...So very presumptive of Hunter. Perhaps should be offended?”

“I possess a functioning nose, skekSil. You _reek_ of arousal. You're all but soaking through to your underthings, and I can't smell anyone else on or in you, so either you've been turned down by someone or other or there's some purpose you're seeking me out specifically, but either way, you're sopping for it.”

SkekSil fiddles a little irritably with the rim of his bottle of essence, not exactly lost – skekSil is never lost for long – but certainly a little thrown. He'd had a plan in mind. He'd had a _script_.

“Mmm...nothing gets past Hunter, I see.” And truth be told, things can be far worse than skekMal smelling his arousal like an animal, knowing the scent of him getting wet is hanging heavy on the air. “Very well, we skip flirting and idle talk. Maybe we get right down to it. Maybe Hunter throws Chamberlain down and does as Hunter pleases.”

“Thra, but you _are_ pathetic.” It's a very distinct and separate entity from a “no”, and sure enough, skekMal is looking him over with unveiled interest...up, down, up, then down again for an unnecessary length of time. SkekSil warms further beneath the weight of his gaze, the apathetic hunger. “Fine. Take off your robes.”

“...All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Did I stammer, Chamberlain?”

SkekSil mulls it over, more out of habit than anything. They're in a secluded area of the castle, true enough, but not _that_ secluded. Then again, they _are_ Skeksis; the Ornamentalist and the Gourmand deserted the feast some time ago for what skekSil assumed were predictable reasons, with no guarantee they ever made it to their beds, and the night the Skeksis crushed the guard uprising, they all gorged themselves on essence and coupled in a sloppy pile on the ground, and ultimately, none of it matters, because skekSil wants everyone to know and to see.

So he stands, drinks all but the last inch or so of the essence in one smooth go. The effect is instantaneous; like all his youth and health and strength never left him, but rather gathered and condensed into a secret, knotted cache somewhere deep in the depths of his chest, untouchable and unseen. Waiting, just waiting through the trine, for exactly the right key to tap in and breach the barrier, and send all of it spilling forth. He feels young and strong, yes, and reckless, but even more than that is rediscovering the way the world looked to him back then – the sense of hope and carefree, the world turning just for him, and how obvious it becomes that everything is going to work out for the best, because why wouldn't it when he has nothing but time for it to do so?

SkekSil, at the same time, understands why it's so very imperative that he not partake as freely as the others do and exactly, _exactly_ why they can't get enough.

Unfastening and unwrapping the Ornamentalist's many layers is a minor undertaking, but one that becomes a pleasure under the influence of Gelfling essence. He's never felt more attractive – not even when he _was_ young, covered with silks and bangles and soft blue fur and feathers. It feels good to take his time, to show himself off, humming and cooing and listening to the Hunter's breathing coming faster and rougher as each piece falls away. By the time he stands naked before skekMal and the window to all the north, this has all solidified in his mind as a fantastic idea, and why didn't he think of it sooner?

“How does Hunter want Ch--”

He never gets to finish, for in a blur of blue, skekMal has flattened him against his own robes – the only cushion he's getting, evidently. Exactly that fast, his legs are shoved aside, his hips raised, and then skekMal's tongue is plunging into his depths, lapping and licking and curling with a lack of finesse uncharacteristic of skekMal, and somehow all the more welcome for it. It's the sort of blunt savagery he expects from skekVar, only delightful, because skekMal _isn't_ skekVar.

This isn't _meant_ to pleasure him, and the fact that it does is incidental. He's being tasted, sampled before the main course.

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing,” skekMal growls into his slickness. SkekSil, who's up to any number of things at any given time, truly doesn't know what he's referring to.. “Plying me with essence? Feigning generosity while you cloud my mind? Do you take me for a fool?”

“Really wasn't,” skekSil half-lies. “What purpose would this serve? Hunter does not need Chamberlain to provide essence. SkekMal will never want for essence ever again.”

The Hunter hovers over him, clearly thinking about it, making an _attempt_ to reach for something beyond the words “ _never want for essence ever again.”_ SkekSil, deciding a softer approach is in order, sits up so he can lick the edge of the Hunter's beak, sampling the way the bite of essence mingles with the taste of himself.

“Here, bring bottle. I show.”

SkekMal passes him the bottle, and skekSil pours it out into the dip of his palm. It pools there, shining, and skekMal huffs, suspecting what he's up to...

“A waste of good— _oh._ ”

...But not, clearly, prepared for the sensation when skekSil's wet palm takes hold of him. His beak hangs open, eyes wide and straight ahead, and for the first time in any memory skekSil has of him, completely paralyzed. SkekSil has never actually applied essence to himself in this manner, so he can only imagine, but going off the way skekMal's hips jerk weakly, pleadingly into his grip...

“Mmm...Good, yes?”

SkekMal hangs his head and makes a noise skekSil never in his wildest dreams would have thought him capable of making. As he moves his hand over the Hunter's erections, precious fluid dribbling from his thighs and landing in fat droplets on the floor, it's all the Chamberlain can do not to grin.

“ _Oh, Thra...oh, oh,_ _ **Thra**_ _..._ ”

SkekMal's hips jerk and stutter like he's never been touched before in his life. For a moment, skekSil is certain the Hunter is going to spend himself all over his hand, which is a possibility skekSil can most definitely work with. It's only when the essence runs away, soaked into flesh perhaps, and skekMal pushes insistently at his shoulders that skekSil gets the hint, and presents himself professionally over his robes, tail raised.

“Go on. No need to hold back... _ruin_ Chamberlain. Make _scream._ ”

SkekMal snarls like a wounded animal, like a caged one, and skekSil assumes that will be the only warning he's receiving. Then something warm drips over, _into_ his channel, filling him, and he turns his head just in time to see the empty essence bottle clatter away.

The full force of it hits him just as skekMal penetrates him, sloppy, wet, and full. His consciousness goes up, up, _up_ , faster than he can hope to follow.

When he comes out of the initial slam of it – not climax, but something that obscures higher thought – his claws are buried deep in his own robes, and skekMal's talons are drawing lines of blood as he pounds his raised hindquarters. It's like nothing he's ever felt before... _nothing_ he ever conceived he _could_ feel. Like summer heat and lightening and thousands upon thousands of miniature tongues, fingers, as many as there are stars in the sky, all licking and stroking and fucking the very microscopic particles that make up his inner channel, but also, somehow, nothing so grandiose as that...just skekMal inside him, feeling so good he could cry.

“ _Please_... _ **please**_...”

SkekMal, lost in whatever reverie the application of the essence of Thra's beloved children to one's genitals has sent _him_ into, gives and gives and gives, maybe, but mostly takes and takes; his thrusts rough and unfocused, snarling every step of the way. SkekSil remembers, in the vaguest of ways, when skekMal was young and rumors abounded that he liked to play the Emperor's pet in the less than figurative sense. He wonders if this is anything like the skekMal skekSo enjoyed back then, mindless and hungry, or if this is _nothing_ like it, because that was a game and this is terrible and real.

“ _Selfish_ little Chamberlain,” growls skekMal. “To think that you've been hiding all of this from me.”

SkekSil, even as delirious as he is, knows skekMal isn't referring to what's under his tail.

“True...should have shared sooner...please, don't punish naughty Chamberlain...”

“ _I should pull out of you and leave you to writhe_.”

SkekSil's head jerks in legitimate alarm. SkekMal wouldn't, certainly _couldn't_ , but no, he can't, there's no way--

“ _No! No, please! Anything but that!”_ He hooks his tail about the Hunter's hips and, suddenly lost and drowning in the awareness that he's powerless to guarantee all of this continues, feels the hot rush of tears to his eyes. “Don't...don't pull out...please, _please._..”

“I should,” skekMal hisses, still moving, still flexing within him, but oh Thra, for how long? If this is one of the Hunter's games, it isn't fun, it isn't fair... “It's all you deserve. I should spend inside you and leave you to yourself.”

“ _No! Beg of you, please, no, mercy!”_ He scrambles for the words, the right words, the ones that will keep skekMal in him for as long as possible. _**“Bleed me instead!”**_

Whether as a means of punishment or simply to mark him, skekMal does; beak latching onto his shoulder, all four sets of talons digging deeper. It hurts, oh, _terribly_ , and he feels the splash of hot and wet and telling, but skekMal keeps on breeding him, and there's nothing in the world that matters save that.

“ _Yes!..._ _ **ah!**_ ”

“Disgusting,” skekMal pants. _“Wretched.”_

SkekSil slams back against him as hard as he can, the only agreement he can summon. He has what he wants, thank Thra, but the tears keep coming and he doubts he could stop them if his life depended on it.

He's shrieking and squealing, and at some point – a few minutes, a few trine, it's all the same – he begins to suspect that his wish has come true, and shapes are flitting about the shadows beyond the door, just off the edge of his peripheral vision. He starts to turn to look at them, to invite them in to join, and then skekMal hits something that melts his brain, his eyes, and he's gone, just gone.

Gone and absorbed into the chasm of it, that place where the most intense pleasure he's ever felt meets the absence of pain.

He's trembling in the comedown, and if he could think at all, he would consider it a frightening degree. The only warmth left in the world is that which skekMal fills him with, and the Hunter's searing breath on the back of his bleeding neck. He gropes weakly for the purpose of all this, and who was meant to capture who, and gives up, head sliding limp to the ground.

And there he stays, listening to the blood racing around his own head. To the Hunter's heaving pants as they chafe the air, then grow quiet.

“You're a loathsome creature, skekSil,” skekMal says at last, very softly.

“ _Oh_...” skekSil whispers, the only answer he can muster. He's not entirely sure skekMal isn't going to kill him right now, and even less certain he would care.

“But...I've always held a guilty fascination for loathsome things.”

SkekSil's not quite so far gone that he can't smile a weary smile.

After all...if there's one thing today has taught him, it's that one can never have enough big, loyal friends.


End file.
